


The Peanut Butter Heist

by DrifterWriter



Series: Leo and Cris [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Peanut Butter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 18:49:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7519298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrifterWriter/pseuds/DrifterWriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing an El Clásico, Cristiano needs peanut butter. Surprisingly, so does Leo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Peanut Butter Heist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pseuicide](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseuicide/gifts).



> Inspired by my crush's and my love for PB.
> 
>    
> Cris creeps into my heart a little more everyday. Sigh. 
> 
>  
> 
> No hate to Antonella. I love that girl.

It's been a bad week.

It's been a long, bad week, and Cristiano is just about _done_ with life.

He glares at everyone as he walked through the aisles of the supermarket, dragging his six-foot-something body around with slouched shoulders, not even apologising when he bumps into people.

He has a mission.

To reach the shelf with the peanut butter.

Nothing can make him feel better than peanut butter can; whenever he's upset, he sits in front of the television with the jar and the spoon, scooping out big spoonfuls of _Skippy's Chunky Peanut Butter_ and nibbling at it a little at a time, and a quarter of the way through a small smile appears on his face and stays there until he's done moping.

He knows he's a professional athlete and shouldn't be doing this, but who cares?

The problem is that he's clean out of _Skippy's Chunky Peanut Butter._

He can't believe he didn't notice that there wasn't a jar at its customary place on his kitchen shelf, but there wasn't, so here he is, in a supermarket in Madrid at ten o'clock in the night, sniffing out PB like a wolf after his prey.

He wanders around pointedly for a bit, finally finds the right aisle, and- no.

 _Hell_ no.

There's a small man at the end of the aisle, trying to reach the last jar of peanut butter that's kept high on the shelf, standing on his toes and wriggling unsuccessfully.

Cristiano blinks.

It's Leo Messi.

Then he shakes his head, sets his jaw and surges forward with the aggression he should've had on the pitch that day, because there is no _way_ anybody but him is buying the last jar of PB.

Leo barely reaches his chin. Cristiano reaches him, extends his hand and grabs the peanut butter instead.

"Cristiano?" Leo says, blinking up at him in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

Leo's gaze tears through him, rendering him speechless; it's like he knows everything that's happening inside Cristiano, everything that he's thinking, by pulling him to pieces. It's an unnerving feeling.

Cristiano holds up the jar dumbly. "I came to get peanut butter."

Leo raises an eyebrow.

"It's my comfort food," Cristiano clarifies, because he feels that Leo deserves some explanation. Then he furrows his eyebrows. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean? I'm buying peanut butter. Obviously."

 _Obviously_.

"Huh?" Cristiano says, doing his best to not look gormless as he stares at Leo. "What do you need it for?"

Leo shrugs and ducks his head. "I....don't know?"

"What is that even supposed to mean?" Cristiano asks, folding his arms and stepping back to glare at Leo properly, peanut butter held protectively in his hand. "How could you possibly not know why-"

He stops when he sees the expression on Leo's face.

Oh.

Oh, _boy_.

"It's not- you don't-" Cristiano stutters, tongue-tied for once in his life. "It's your comfort food, too?"

Leo glares at him. Then he gives a tiny nod of his head, barely perceptible, and looks at his shoes interestedly.

Cristiano is speechless.

In all honesty, this is the part where he gives the jar to Leo, smiles at him genially, claps him on the shoulder, _no, no, it's no problem, you keep it, you seem to need it_ , but the question that is at the tip of Cristiano's tongue is the one he can't help but ask-

"Why?"

Leo looks at him from under his lashes. "What?"

"Why do you need your comfort food?" Cristiano asks, finally finding his tongue. "You just won _El Clásico_ , shouldn't you be celebrating?"

"Well, yeah." Leo scuffs the marble flooring of the supermarket with the tip of his shoe, still avoiding his eyes. "It's nothing, I just, uh-"

Without thinking, Cristiano gently grips Leo's chin between his forefinger and thumb and tilts Leo's head up, so that there's nowhere the younger man can look except into Cristiano's eyes. Leo's brown irises widen for a second, but he doesn't pull away.

Cristiano realises his heart is going into overdrive. He laughs at himself.

Man, the press would have a field day. If only they were here to see this.

"Leo," Cristiano says, so quietly that he almost can't hear himself. "What's wrong?"

"Antonella broke up with me."

"Oh, no," Cristiano says automatically.

 _Oh, yes_ , his mind screams.

"I'm sorry," he says, letting go of Leo's chin and stepping back.

Leo scratches the back of his head uncomfortably. "Yeah, well. I'd seen it coming for a while. Doesn't make it hurt any less, though."

There's an awkward silence.

Then Leo straightens, gives Cristiano a brave smile and claps him on the shoulder. "Well, you can keep the peanut butter, I'll get over it. Good game, Cris."

He walks away, down the aisle and disappears around the corner.

Cristiano stares, dumbstruck.

Cris. Leo called him _Cris_.

 _Fuck_.

"Leo, hey!" Cristiano yells impulsively, running down the aisle. "LEO!"

Leo is nearly leaving the supermarket, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket, but he turns at the sound of Cris' voice.

"Cris?" He asks, startled, and _fuck_ , Cristiano's heart shudders, and in that moment he knows that he is so far gone that with the next sentence, there's no turning back.

He says it anyway. Holds up the jar of peanut butter. "Want to share?"

Leo smiles.

 

 

 _fin_. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, appreciation is appreciated.


End file.
